


Shameless

by OctoberSkies



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Anal Sex, Explicit Sexual Content, Gay Sex, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, POV Dorian Pavus, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Shameless Smut, Teasing, Top Dorian Pavus, playful banter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-21
Updated: 2015-10-21
Packaged: 2018-04-27 09:38:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5043295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OctoberSkies/pseuds/OctoberSkies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a drunken tavern conversation with The Iron Bull, Varlen Lavellan makes an... unusual request of his Tevinter lover. Little does he know, Dorian is more than happy to oblige.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shameless

**Author's Note:**

> EDIT: 23/10 - I felt I rushed the ending a bit, and so I went back and... elaborated.

_Well… isn’t this a tempting sight._

The thought purred inside Dorian’s head as he circled the bed like a hungry lion, eyes fixed upon the figure spread out upon the mattress. His lover had made a… rather  _unusual request_. One born from a drunken late night discussion with The Iron Bull at the tavern, no doubt, which surprisingly did not bother him as much as he would have thought.

No.  _Quite the opposite_.

He looked on as Varlen twisted his hands slightly, testing the strength of the fabric that bound them fast to the headboard. Seeing if he could slip his way to freedom with an expert flick of the wrist. After all, Dorian was the amateur in this particular area, and he was the dashing rogue, yes? The mage chuckled deeply to himself, drawing his lower lip between his teeth as he drank the sight. He wasn’t going to be able to resist for much longer.

“Y-You’re still there, right? Or are you just going to leave me here… like _this_ …?” Varlen’s voice was strained with impatience, his arousal already beginning to show through his thin breeches as he squirmed against the sheets. Dorian’s mouth twisted in wry amusement, but he held off responding for another arduous moment, relishing the way Varlen’s face crinkled with uncertainty like a pup. It appeared Dorian had been watching for longer than he anticipated; his blindfolded lover had begun to question if he even remained in the room. How alarmingly easy it was to lose track of time under such… _distracting circumstances_.

Slowly, Dorian began to approach, intentionally moving with heavy footfalls upon the wooden floor to make the sound echo through the room. Varlen’s breath hitched slightly, his lean form tensing in baited anticipation with each step.

“Oh,  _I’m here,_ amatus…” Dorian said, reaching down to trace his hand languidly over Varlen’s naked torso, relishing in the way the man’s skin reacted with delightful shivers beneath his touch. Varlen sucked in a breath and appeared to hold it as Dorian continued to tease, his fingertips trailing lower…  _lower…_

… just as he got to the waistband of his breeches, the Tevinter stopped, earning a keening moan from his lover as he tugged against his bonds, releasing the breath he had been holding in a frustrated rush.

“You’re really going to drag this out, aren’t you?” Varlen griped, and Dorian just laughed in that musical way he always did.

“Oh, only if you’re  _bad_.”

“How exactly am I meant to be  _good_  then?” Varlen yanked at his bound wrists, already nearing the limits of his patience.  _Maker’s breath_ , Dorian mused as he planted his hand on his hip,  _they had barely begun! He’d been the one who wanted to get creative!_

“Show me that you want it,  _amatus_.” Dorian leaned down, whispering his response directly into Varlen’s ear, his hot breath wafting across the sensitive skin. He knew how much that drove his lover crazy. The elf’s response was as predicted; he groaned throatily, his toes curling helplessly against the sheets.

“ _How?_  It’s –  _agh_  –  not like I can do anything!”

“Well then just stop complaining for a few seconds and allow  _me_.” Dorian’s tone might have been shorter than he intended, but it was not born from irritation. No. It stemmed from his own steadily growing arousal as he watched Varlen’s shirtless frame twist breathlessly on the bed, his cheeks coloured pink with a mixture of embarrassment and need. Oh yes, they were ready to have some _fun_. Obediently, Varlen clamped his mouth shut, his jaw muscles twitching as he fought to remain silent as per instruction. A fond look flitted across Dorian’s face. Andraste bless him for trying, but Varlen’s attempt at compliance was never going to last. Dorian would see to that.

He suddenly swept forward to claim his lover’s mouth with a deep kiss, Varlen’s tightly pursed lips immediately parting with a shocked yelp to allow the mage’s tongue admittance should he so desire it. However, Dorian had other plans. After a moment of crushing intensity, he pulled back. Varlen involuntarily strained forward in an attempt to chase his lips, but was stopped short courtesy of his restraints. But before he could begin to complain about the situation, Dorian shifted position, climbing onto the bed and swinging his leg over to straddle his waist. Hungrily, he stooped again, trailing kisses along Varlen’s jaw, then down his neck, nipping and sucking strangled whimpers from the man. His hands were working too, fingertips ghosting down Varlen’s outstretched arms, trailing all the way down to his hips, causing him to writhe beneath him at the sensation, his torso stuttering in an attempt to shy away whenever Dorian reached particularly sensitive spots.

“ _D-Dorian_ …!” Varlen gasped as the mage ventured further and closed his mouth over his right nipple, swirling his tongue over the pink flesh, his left hand tending to the other with gentle twists. As Varlen descended into a squirming mess of poorly masked moans, Dorian smirked and suddenly delivered a sharp pinch. Not enough to injure, but enough to startle the elf from his foggy stupor. Varlen yelped, jerking suddenly at the unexpected gesture, his knuckles white from gripping the cloth that bound him.

“ _Fenedhis_  - you ass!” Varlen twisted, as if to unseat Dorian from his straddling position above him, but the man was prepared for such a predictably touchy reaction. He laughed, shoulders shaking as he sat back, bracing his hands on Varlen’s shuddering stomach. Then, Dorian bit his lip, grinding down against his all too willing captive, making slow, circular motions with his hips in the hopes of driving the other man  _mad_. Dorian could be patient; Varlen, less so.

“Better,  _amatus_?”

“ _S-Shit_ …” Varlen almost choked on the word as he tossed his head back, silver hair splaying haphazardly across the pillow, errant strands sticking to his face as it glistened beneath the blindfold. His arms tensed, the tight muscle straining as he kept trying and failing to bring them down on reflex; to grab Dorian and throw him onto the bed, then claim with such urgency that one might think the world about to end.  _Well_ , Dorian mused,  _that outcome was potentially on the cards, now wasn’t it?_

“I’ll take  _that_  as a  _yes_.” He crooned with a smooth chuckle, before scooting back further, hooking his fingers in the waistband of Varlen’s breeches. A smile found his lips as Varlen bucked impatiently, dragging himself up towards the headboard as though he could somehow assist Dorian with the task at hand, or at least urge him along.

Of course,  _that_  was never going to happen.

Dorian lingered, tracing the fabric, plucking at it with teasing fingers until Varlen was truly about to crack. Just as he felt that the elven man was teetering on the precipice of a frustrated scream, Dorian dragged his breeches down in one swift motion, leaving nothing between him and his lover but the delicate cotton of his smalls. They were already wet with arousal, almost transparent in places, hugging tightly to his shaft as it fought for freedom from its confinement. Now, Dorian had seen a lot of wonderful sights in his times, but never before had he felt so totally and irrevocably  _turned on._  He had to take a moment to steel himself by frantically imagining Corypheus taking a bath before he could continue without immediately coming undone.

“C- _Creators_ … Why did I think you w-wouldn’t be good at this?” Varlen gasped, drawing Dorian back to the present moment with a satisfied smirk.

“Because  _you_  tend to thoroughly underestimate the depravity of the magisterium.” As though to emphasise his point, Dorian finished his sentence by licking along Varlen’s length, the dry drag of the cotton mixing with the taste of salt on his tongue as he sent his lover into a twitching spasm of desire. He planted his hands firmly on Varlen’s hips, forcing them down against the mattress as the man tried to buck upwards, and continued to lick and suck on top of the fabric, relishing the sound of his moans as he all but begged for release.

_“D-Dorian…!”_  Varlen threw his head back, exposing that beautiful, tattooed neck, his upper body arching needily each time Dorian’s lavishing tongue reached his tip. Varlen’s mouth was open now, and he made no attempt to conceal the frantic pace of his breaths as they raced from his chest. With a final, languid lick, Dorian decided it was time. He hastily pulled down Varlen’s smalls, ridding his lover’s legs of both the wet cotton as well as his breeches. He now lay before him, completely exposed, his physique utterly  _breathtaking_  beneath the low glow of the torchlight. He was a delicate balance of lean and muscular, capable of great swiftness and sudden bursts of strength, tight like a coiled serpent, ready to strike. And he was  _his.  Maker’s breath._ As Dorian reached over to the small table beside the bed and poured a measure of oil onto his hands, he took a final moment to relish the sweat-soaked skin of his lover, who was physically  _shaking_  with need, his hands knotted into the fabric that bound him with startling desperation.

Dorian returned with haste, now feeling a touch guilty for dragging his teasing on for so long. While for some it would have felt like nothing, he knew that Varlen was a creature of immediate gratification. The fact that he had been even this patient spoke less for his own self-control, and more for his trust of Dorian, who was thoroughly enjoying the predicament the elven man had so foolishly requested. Although, if his current state was anything to go by, Dorian wagered he was enjoying it just as much, if not more.

He knelt between Varlen’s legs, his cock still rock-hard and straining for release. Gently, he teased his opening with one slick finger, tracing around its edge, delighting in how the muscle twitched beneath his touch. Then, he pushed in slowly, easing his entry with the liberal coating of oil, eventually sliding in to the knuckle as Varlen’s breath hitched sharply in his throat.

“W-Wait -  _wait_ , slow down–!” The words poured out of Varlen’s mouth in a frantic rush, and Dorian halted instantly, permitting time for his lover to adjust to the sensation. He was less accustomed to being on the receiving end, after all. The mage waited patiently as Varlen’s hands clenched and twisted against his bonds, his muscular torso stuttering as he breathed rapidly through the initial discomfort. After a moment, his slight spasms seemed to subside, and Dorian repositioned himself slightly to permit a better angle. The mage’s blue-grey eyes flicked up.

“Are you ready, amatus?”

The response was a heavy swallow, and a feverish nod.  _Very good_. Dorian slowly began to move, in and out, not proceeding too quickly despite Varlen’s reassurance. He knew how stubborn he could be, so it was up to Dorian to set a pace he felt would not cause him unnecessary discomfort. As he continued, he used his free hand to once again stroke Varlen’s cock, and he felt his amatus begin to relax, his body slowly giving in to the intrusion. Dorian slipped in the second finger with comparable ease, and was rewarded by a throaty moan that positively shook from Varlen’s lips.

He began to pick up his pace, fingering Varlen faster and with purpose, angling appropriately to strike that spot that would cause the man to make a noise Dorian positively  _adored_. It took a few thrusts, but Dorian soon found his mark, and true to form, Varlen’s reaction was immediate and intense. He gasped hard, the air seeming to get stuck half-way through the inhalation, and for a second, his entire body quaked as though struck by electricity.

_There_.

Dorian licked his lips quickly, and repeated the motion, again resulting in that beautiful quivering dance that left Varlen breathless and whimpering upon the bed. He could hear his amatus’ ragged panting, dragging from his chest. Each exhale was accompanied by a moan so lustful that Dorian wanted nothing more than to take him right there on the spot.  _In fact…_

… He withdrew his fingers to the sound of a distressed groan. Varlen thrashed a little, as though prepared to tear the headboard clean off if it meant some sort of satisfaction, then began to beg, the words desperate and broken between rapid breaths as he jerked and tugged his wrists in his struggle.

“P-Please! Dorian,  _s-shit,_ I can’t…!”

“Shhh, I know.” Dorian wanted to continue; to play the role of the bad guy, having his way with the helpless man before him. But Varlen was so overcome with utter lust that Dorian no longer felt the need for charade. Odds were Varlen wouldn’t even remember the finer points of their conversation anyway. Dorian pulled down his own breeches, exposing his length which was already rigid (and if he was honest, had been for the most of the exercise).

After slicking himself with oil, Dorian once again positioned himself between Varlen’s quivering legs. Then, just before he slid in, he paused, struck by a sudden thought. With a wicked grin, he hooked an arm beneath each of Varlen's legs, hoisting them up, granting him better access and raising the elf's hips, angling them upwards as his lover's breath hitched. Then, as he felt the elf’s suspended legs begin to shake in a mixture of anxiety and want, he pressed himself up against the tight ring and thrust in. Deep and slow, fighting hard to suppress a groan of pleasure at the sensation that suddenly encased him. Varlen jolted, a cry tearing from his lips at the sudden and far larger intrusion. He jerked upwards reflexively, overwhelmed by the mixture of pain and intense pleasure that rolled from deep within his core off his panting tongue, but Dorian held him fast, his fingertips digging into the soft flesh of his thighs, stopping him from pulling away. Varlen quaked beneath him, as though still trying to retreat, but although Dorian hesitated in a moment of uncertainty, he made no request for him to stop. Did not say the word he had chosen before they had started. So, after a moment of allowing Varlen to adjust again, Dorian began to withdraw with agonising slowness, relishing his lover's incoherent whimpers as he almost completely pulled out, lingering near his entrance, just barely still inside.

It took even less time than Dorian thought for Varlen to crack.  The elf was shuddering beneath him, trying helplessly to pull Dorian closer with his legs, now wrapped tightly around his waist, but the mage was insolently resisting. _I want to know what it's like, Dorian... to be helpless. To want it, but have to beg for it._ Those were the words Varlen had said, his face bright red with embarrassment at his confession. The moment still played through Dorian's head. He'd been so nervous, believing that Dorian would turn him away, or even make fun of him. Dorian could barely believe it, thinking back. Mock him? _For this?_ Maker _, never._

" _P-Pl... Plea...se-please-D-Doria-ahh...!"_ Varlen's cracking voice sounded on the verge of tears, so desperate for some kind of satisfaction that he couldn't even form a coherent sentence. His tight abdominals flinched intermittently as he began to tire from his raised position, the strain from both the angle and his sheer _need_ proving overwhelming to his senses. The blindfold didn't help, Dorian was certain. Being robbed of sight tended to heighten _near_ _everything else_.

" _Again_." Dorian gave the command, grateful that Varlen could not see the way his own face was twisted into a mask of painfully restrained passion. Varlen's toes curled and twitched as Dorian teased him with a bit more pressure; just a touch; but moved no deeper. A desperate moan tore from Varlen's throat as he thrashed, pulling hard against the restraints that kept him bound fast to the headboard.

"Please! _P-Please Dori...agh-I-I can't-!"_

That was good enough. Dorian could hold back no longer. He clenched his teeth and shoved straight in, going deep, the force of the gesture shocking his very vocal amatus into a silent, gasping scream as the threw his head back in time with the thrust. Then, in a shuddering rush, Varlen began to recover his lost voice, a ragged, shattering gasp tearing from his lungs as he was so suddenly filled to the brim. Then, at the peak of Varlen's dragging inhalations, Dorian began to thrust, over and over, tightening his grip on his lover as he went. He pulled Varlen in even further as he began to steadily increase his pace, the elf's legs clamping down as though holding on for dear life as he was reduced to a choking mess of mewling, heaving moans.

Detangling his right arm from the elf's tightly clenched leg, Dorian reached over and roughly grabbed Varlen’s cock, feeling the man jump at the force of the gesture as he squeezed its base and continued to thrust hard into him. Then, amidst the cacophony of desperate, wordless pleas, Dorian began pumping it, matching the rapid rhythm of his hips with deft strokes of his hand. Varlen struggled, gasping chokingly, the only words now rushing from his lips purely elven and as such utterly unintelligible to Dorian as he rapidly urged his lover towards his aching climax. It did not take long before Varlen’s entire body suddenly tensed like a coiled spring, and he came hard, spilling all over Dorian’s hand as well as his own stomach with a final cracking scream.

Dorian moaned deeply as Varlen’s muscles tightened around his cock. He picked up his pace again, this time driven by his own need as he felt his lover begin to twitch and shudder beneath his still stroking hand, now completely spent and hyper-sensitive to even the slightest touch.

"S- _Sh-i-it Dorian_ st- _AHH-!"_ Varlen was gasping, shaking - _begging -_ but not with the right word. Refusing to use it; out of stubbornness or sheer desire to continue, Dorian was not sure. So the mage did not stop, slowing down his still pumping hand but continuing his rapid thrusts as he felt his own release looming near, building tightly in his abdomen. Finally, after a few more urgent, frantic pumps and the whimpering protests of his squirming amatus, Dorian also came undone with a throaty groan, still held firmly in place by Varlen's quivering legs as he buried himself deep and finished inside him.

Then, it was as though they were suddenly overwhelmed by exhaustion, and any strength rapidly flooded from both of them. Varlen’s shaking legs fell heavily against the mattress, spasming slightly as Dorian withdrew his length to the sound of a keening whimper. In spite of his own exhaustion, the mage then forced himself to crawl up beside Varlen, whose hands were now limp and trembling in their restraints, red around the wrists from his frantic tugging.  Dorian first removed the blindfold, drinking in the unfocused gaze that greeted him in a cloud of ecstasy. Then, he undid the bindings, easing the man’s arms down with gentle persuasion, aware that the muscles were still taut from being held in place. As he did so, Varlen blinked, eyelashes fluttering as he returned to the present moment with a rush of breath. Dorian smirked when he felt that familiar, smouldering blue gaze turn on him.

“Was that quite what you anticipated,  _amatus_?” He purred, leaning in to plant a deep, soft kiss on Varlen’s waiting lips. The other man chuckled  breathlessly against them, returning the movement with equal adoration, reaching up to stroke the side of Dorian’s face.  When they broke apart, he was smiling, but also shaking his head in disbelief. Varlen swallowed, his throat still dry and grating from his rather... _vocal_ performance.

“Honestly…  _not even a little_.” He admitted with a rasp, before pushing himself up on his elbows and fixing Dorian with an almost impressed look. “W-Where did you learn all of  _that_?”

“Well, it’s a funny story actually–” Dorian began with that tone he always took when about to launch into a tale of epic grandeur and questionable validity. Varlen raised his hands in swift surrender.

“– _Never mind!_ Forget I asked!” The pale-haired man laughed breathily. With still trembling movements, he leaned forward and swept his hand over his sweat-soaked face, running it back through his damp locks as his taut muscles gleamed in the low-light. Dorian smirked. He looked like a vision from a dream.  _A naughty dream_ , to be sure, but a dream nonetheless. Varlen tossed the man a half-lidded glance.

“Don’t ruin the moment, Dorian,  _please_.”

Dorian smirked, his eyes lingering appreciatively on his lover’s form as he shifted onto his elbow and propped his head in his hand.

“Oh amatus,  _nothing_ could ruin this moment.”

 


End file.
